


Breathing

by Taddea_Hastings



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Be gentle, F/M, First published fic, It's not like this isn't incredibly late, go away and allow me my ship, so not-canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-16 07:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5819404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taddea_Hastings/pseuds/Taddea_Hastings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freedom can mean different things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She screamed. She couldn't help it. Not with that chest--holding his heart and her whole life--open and with a dagger standing through it. She'd been in what passed for a town buying supplies--not gone more than an hour!--and when she returned, the cottage had been ransacked; the floorboards pried up, the chest smashed open, and Will's heart stabbed through. Her purchases fell unheeded though her hands as she did what she'd only done once before in her life; she fainted.  
The next few months were lost to her. She grieved like a mad woman, and perhaps she had gone a little mad. When she knocked the lamp over one night and the table caught fire, she stood and watched it; fascinated by the flames until the smoke made her cough. Brought to herself enough to want to survive she grabbed up her sword, pistol and a bottle of rum and staggered outside, laughing at the fact that she still wanted to live when her life was over. She moved a little way away and found a tree to sit under. Cradled by its roots, she unsealed the rum and took a long pull. When she woke later, she found herself and her effects in a room in the inn and no idea how she'd gotten there. The neighbors who'd found her visited fearfully and found Mrs. Turner a changed woman. She stood calmly as she quietly thanked them for their care and apologized for her "unseemly behavior". Her eyes were clear and sad but without the glaze of wildness on them that they'd come to expect. They left both confused and relieved after her assurances of taking ship for Port Royal and her father. When, after a few days, she came to call again to make her goodbyes they bid her a sincere good bye, wishing for an end to her unhappiness and a safe voyage.

It only took a few months to get word of the Pearl and only a few days after that for Mr. Turner to gain passage to her rather predictable home port: Tortuga. Mr. Turner was an ideal hand on the voyage. Quietly grim, he performed his duties admirably enough to pass muster and quietly enough to escape much notice. When a fight broke out near his hammock, everyone was quite surprised to find him panting and angry over the unconscious form of a shipmate. They were equally unsurprised to hear his tale of an attempted theft and the miscreant’s beating at his hands. The man was put in the brig for a time, and there were no more incidents.

Tortuga was both the same and vastly changed from Elizabeth's last visit. The lawlessness and noise were the same as they'd ever been, but without the sparkle of adventure they'd held for her then. She took a room and waited. Soon enough, she had word: the Pearl was in for repairs. She made her way to the tavern where Gibbs always looked for crew and waited. When he made his appearance, she waited for his Captain. Two brawls and a drink later, Jack arrived.  
When Gibbs looked up from their conversation, eyes round and an uncertain smile on his face, Jack froze. "Looking for crew, Captain Sparrow?" It couldn't be. No, well, really it could be. After all, they'd brought him back, hadn't they? No. Still, it couldn't be. The voice was rougher than hers. He turned, a wry comment on his lips, to find her there. Always slim, she was now whipcord and bone, all hollow eyes and still full mouth. "He's dead, Jack. They killed him, and I don't even know who it was." Her voice was a little too steady. For a moment, Jack's famed wit failed him. He stood and stared at her. Will? Dead? Another improbability that was, apparently, a possibility. "Will you help me?"  
"Of course, luv." His voice was hoarse. His kohl-ringed eyes had gone a thousand fathoms deep, but his hand was steady when he clasped hers. Of course; Jack was used to losing friends. "Have a drink and tell us." His foot swept a battered chair away from the table, and he poured a goodly share of rum into a wooden cup. Her hand--no longer ladylike, he noticed--curled around the cup casually, and when she tipped her head back and swallowed it all, he saw how grief and rage had changed her.  
"Not here, Jack." Her voice might be steady, but her eyes said that she was not, and he nodded, sympathy in his eyes. Hers blazed in return. She didn't want his pity, especially not now. Gibbs nodded.  
"Never thought I'd say this, with her being a woman and all, but this'd be best done on the Pearl, Cap'n."  
"Right you are. Mrs. Tur..."  
"Elizabeth." She corrected, sharply.  
"Elizabeth." He replied. 

The feel of the Pearl, the smell of her, nearly sent Elizabeth to her knees. Jack saw her back grow impossibly straight. "My quarters," he murmured, eyes signaling murder to the man who interrupted this conversation. The crew didn't so much form a path as disappear; the ship gone so quiet that Elizabeth could hear the creaking of the hinges of the doors to Jack's cabin when he opened the door for her. It had always surprised her that Jack's cabin was so neat and well maintained, when his person was so...not. The evening breeze came through the open windows, carrying the sounds of Tortuga; singing and fighting. After the door closed behind Gibbs, the noises aboard ship--admittedly few, as most of the crew were out causing some of the noise Elizabeth was hearing on the island--slowly returned to normal. Jack picked up a bottle and three cups, dropping them on the table next to a loaf of bread and jar of honey. Elizabeth dropped into a chair, eyes on the way her rough hands reflected in the polished wood of the table. "I'd gone to buy supplies." Her voice sounded hollow, even to her. Her eyes flicked up to Jack's, then back down. She threw back the shot of rum he passed her, not even tasting it. "I'd just finished the last of the flour, and I needed tea. I went to town to get it, and when I got back, the floorboards had been prised up, and the house wrecked. The...the chest had been opened...and..."she shuddered to a stop, fingers gripping the cup tightly, seeing Will's face as he'd told her to to keep the chest containing his heart safe, feeling his hand on her knee above her boot top. Her broken fingernails bit into the tabletop.  
"Mr. Gibbs." Jack's voice was deadly serious. Gibbs made no argument, just clapped her on the shoulder on the way out and shut the door behind himself. They sat in utter silence for a long moment, while Elizabeth gathered herself.  
"The chest had been opened, and..." This was harder than she'd thought it would be, after these months of searching for Jack. "...erm...a dagger had been...stabbed..."She didn't move, seeing it again. She just couldn't say any more.  
"He's gone, then." Jack slumped in his chair for a moment, then sloshed rum into a pair of cups, stood, and set one in front of her, raising his own. Trembling, she pushed back from the table and stood, taking up the cup and raising it. It was likely the only funeral Will would have. "To William Turner."  
"To Will," she thought, unable to make any sound. They threw back their cups. For the first time, Elizabeth tasted the rum she drank and the burn of it set her coughing. The coughs turned to tears, surprising her. She folded in on herself, shaking, truly mourning Will's loss for the first time since she'd walked in to see the destruction of all their dreams. Jack stood silently, allowing her her privacy. It was a small thing to see a woman cry, but he marveled at it; that Elizabeth wept, and envied Will the strength of her regard. It seemed that it would tear her apart, the sobs shaking her until he dropped to his knees beside her with his hands cupping her shoulders. He almost dropped her in surprise when she fell into him, hands clenched in his coat, and wailed into his shoulder. After a moment he closed his arms around her and picked her up, settling himself on the edge of his bunk and her in his lap.  
"Hush, luv. He smoothed her hair with one ringed hand and wondered if he'd ever cried this way. He rather thought that he hadn't. "Hush." After a while, neither of them after could decide if it'd been minutes or hours, she had cried herself out. He felt it before she did and loosened his hold so that when she pulled away from him, he would have already let her go. She sniffed and wiped her face on her sleeve and surprised him by laying her head on his shoulder, her face against his neck.  
"Thank you," she murmured, her voice muffled in his shirt collar. It felt good to have that firm shoulder beneath her cheek. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done this." But her fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck. "I'm just so tired, Jack. So terribly tired."  
"Should rest, then, luv. Here." He set her away from him and turned back the blanket on his bunk, then eased her boots off, one after the other. What was she thinking? What was HE thinking? He was on the verge of pretending seduction when her eyes, hollow with grief and something else, locked with his. "Get in, Elizabeth." Too tired to protest, she curled into linen sheets that smelled like him, tucking one hand under the pillow and facing him. He pulled the blanket over her and stood to leave.  
"Jack?" Those eyes! He wished she would look elsewhere. They were reminding him that he could be a better man than he was most of the time.  
"Aye?"  
"Stay?" Oh damn it all! That was exactly what he did not need. No. Not a good idea. Why were his knees bending? Hell and damnation. He settled gingerly on the edge of the bed.  
"I doubt you need protection on the Pearl, luv. They're all likely lads, but they know you too well."  
"Please." He could see what that one word cost her, in dignity and pride both.  
"A moment." He stood and moved over to a chest. She watched him, shivering in exhaustion and fear. He rifled through the chest for a moment, then placed a book (really?) on the table nearest him. After the chest was secured, he scooped up the slim volume and returned to the bunk. "Shift over, then, luv." Elizabeth scooted backward, eyes wide. He sat next to her, long legs stretched in front of him, back braced against the wall. "Sleep." As if the word were a spell and he a sorcerer, she did; drifting into the first dreamless sleep she'd had in months.

She woke with a start some time later as he slid down the wall, laying the book on the floor beside the bunk. "Go back to sleep, luv." After a moment of shifting around and trying to fit two people in a bunk designed for one, he sighed heavily. "That's enough of this. Come here." He shifted again,this time stretching his arm out toward her. She blinked in confusion. "I'm not trying your virtue, madam. I'm trying to get some sleep." His voice was sharp with frustration. Gingerly, she shifted over and lay her cheek on his shoulder, curling her left arm around her midsection. When he gripped her shoulder and shifted her closer, she stiffened, then relaxed. Right or not, this felt good. She stared across his chest for a few minutes, but when nothing untoward happened, she let her eyes slide shut. A few minutes after that, she was asleep.

The next time she awoke, she was curled into his chest, his arm around her and his hand smoothing her hair. "Elizabeth, darling."  
"Hmmm?" Unbidden, her hand curled to fit itself to the long muscle of his back. Suddenly, in her mind she could see the way they must look with his lean body curled protectively around hers.  
"It's my watch, luv." He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. Elizabeth leaned back to see his face. He looked down at her, then away. Elizabeth stretched up to lay a soft kiss on his cheek.  
"Thank you, Jack." She ducked her face back into his shoulder for a few seconds, then pushed him away. He met her eyes then, and smiled.  
"Aye. Take your rest, or join me on deck." He rose slowly, stretching. In answer, Elizabeth wrapped herself more tightly in his blankets.  
"Thank you, Captain Sparrow. You're a gentleman..." the rest of the sentence was muttered into his pillow.

He piloted the way he did everything else, with an unconscious grace that would have been the envy of anyone breathing. She noted the gentle exactness of his motions as he steered and the satisfaction in his eyes as the Pearl's sails swelled overhead. The early morning sun caught one of the trinkets in his hair, flashing at her. She stood for a moment, watching him, before stepping out of the shadows to greet him. "How're you at the wheel, darling?" He looked at her speculatively.  
"I'm not sure. It's been a while," she admitted. When he stepped away from the helm, one hand keeping it steady, she blinked at him. With his free hand, he made an impatient gesture. She stepped forward to put her hands on the wheel, moving hesitantly. Jack's hands closed over hers, moving them to a better seat on the spokes. Immediately, she could feel the thrum of the ship's motion under her hands.  
"You have to look and listen--hard enough for a woman to do, but you'll learn--to hear what she's telling you. Give her a wee turn to port...only a little." Elizabeth complied, and immediately, she could feel the loss in speed as the sails luffed, and she gave the wheel a flick back to catch the breeze again, humming in satisfaction. "Now to Starboard." This time, she felt the shudder under her hands as the ship heeled a little, her sails too full, lines groaning slightly. She let the wheel slip under her hands, correcting until she was not longer feeling that the lines were too closely hauled for that much wind. "Aye, maybe y' know a bit." But still, he stood behind her, his hands over hers. The warmth of his body at her back was almost as thrilling as the feel of the breeze in her face. Sometime a hundred years ago, she’d been frightened of this man, frightened of what he represented. But no more, she realized. Now, he was the only home she had. After a long moment, she dropped her head back to rest on his shoulder and took a long, slow breath. Somewhere below, someone was making coffee, she noted. Soon the crew would be moving about. But for now, it was just the crisp dawn, the ship, and the man behind her. She smiled.  
“Jack.” She kept her voice soft.  
“Yes, luv?” his voice was a quiet rumble behind her. She worked one hand free of the wheel and of his hand, and placed it over his.  
“Thank you, again. I think I may remember how to breathe, now.”  
“That is the trick, isn’t it, Lizziebeth? To remember how to breathe?” He dropped a kiss on her temple. A disturbing habit, they both thought at the same moment. “Now, as your Captain, I order you to go and find the coffee, and bring me some too.  
“Get the coffee, aye, Captain.” She agreed in the singsong repetition of ships’ orders, turning in the circle of his arms to go, laughing up at him in one of the few unguarded moments he’d ever seen from her. Jack couldn’t help himself; he caught her mouth in a quick, chaste buss that had her blushing and scurrying for the coffeepot.


	2. In which we learn

Elizabeth sat crosslegged in the bunk, hands busy with needle and thread, patching a shirt. It amused her to mend things now; she’d been so terrible at it when she’d been a lady, and she snorted at the thought. Jack looked up from his book, and smirked at the picture she made, with the bedclothes tumbled about her and her hair falling in her eyes.   
“You look like an urchin, luv.”  
“Hardly.” She flipped her hair out of her eyes and resumed her task.  
“What are you doing? Is that MY shirt?” He closed his book and moved to sit on the edge of the bunk.  
“Mending, and you’re in my light.”  
“That IS my shirt!” Undeterred by her protest, he shifted closer. “Why are you mending my shirts?”   
“Because I wear them as often as you do, and this one has a tear from your last adventure.” She grinned up at him, taking him by surprise. It wasn’t fair, really, that she could take him by surprise just by smiling.  
“You do this every time?” He quirked a brow at her. “Could be handy...”  
“Lately, yes.” Her tone was dry, and he took her hint--for a change--and moved back to the table.   
“We’ve dawn watch in the morning. Best be ready to turn in soon.” He remarked, taking off his coat and hiding his smile at her grumbling. She grumbled every time, but he knew she rather enjoyed taking the early watch with him. He didn’t mind it, himself, especially when dawn broke crisp and clear with the new sun tinting everything pink and Elizabeth leaned against his shoulder. She’d learned quickly, and really didn’t need him to stand watch with her any longer, he mused, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. He looked up again to find her rubbing her shoulder before bending her head to her mending. He knew it pained her sometimes. Climbing into his hammock, he grinned at his own discomfort.

“NO!” The panicked half-shout rolled Jack out of the hammock more effectively than a bucket of ice water would have done. He was across the cabin before he realized he was moving. She’d bolted upright and sat staring straight ahead, trembling, her hair tangled across her mouth and her fingers clenched in the sheets. Carefully, he eased to his knees next to her.   
“Lizzie.” He spoke quietly. She shuddered, a long, painful-looking movement. “Elizabeth.” Jack knew better than to touch her. He just knelt there in the darkness waiting for her to recognize him.  
“Jack?” Her voice was small, fragile, and he hated it.  
“Aye.”  
“Can you...” She trailed off.  
“Stay? Aye, Lizzie-beth. I can stay.” He rose. “Shift.” She slid over to allow him room, and once he was settled, curled against him, pressing her face into his shoulder. “Hush.” He cradled her against him until the trembling stopped, wondering where this ill-advised spate of gentleness was coming from and trying to devise cures. Once she relaxed, he had to admit, it was rather pleasant to lie abed with Elizabeth Tur...Swann. He stroked her hair, tracing the shape of her skull until he thought she was asleep again. He kissed the top of her head before attempting to slip from her grasp to return to his hammock. He froze mid-movement when she grasped his arm firmly and sighed contentedly. Rolling his eyes,he eased himself back down and slept. 

The next morning dawned clear and bright, the sparkle off the waves throwing itself across the roof of the cabin. Elizabeth woke first, sighing when she realized that yet again, Jack had shared the bunk with her to keep the nightmares at bay. She cast one eye at the windows, gauging the angle of the sun, then threw herself out of the bunk. Closing the door with a gentleness she did not feel, she leapt up the gangway to the helm. Gibbs sat calmly, one hand draped carelessly across the wheel.  
“Mr Gibbs.”  
“You’re late, Swann.”  
“I know.”  
“And Jack?”  
“Still abed.” She cocked a hip to rest against the rail and gnawed on a hangnail. After a moment, Gibbs looked at her full on, in a way he never, ever did. “You owe me.”   
“Yes.” She squinted at the water. “I’ve a crown that says we’re becalmed by noon.”  
“No bet, Swann. I’ve been out here longer than you’ve been breathin’. Today’ll be glass or gales and naught in between. Go roust Jack.”   
“Aye.” Elizabeth swung back toward the Captain’s quarters.

She eased the door open to see Jack fastening his belt. “Good morning.” She closed the door behind herself and leaned on it. Jack grunted in response.   
“We’re late.”  
“No.” Elizabeth pitched herself off the door with her shoulders. “Gibbs has the helm. He says it’s glass or gales and sent me for you.” She stopped for a moment, then approached him cautiously. “Did I…did I say anything last night?” She looked down, then back at him. “And thank you.”  
“Oh, aye, never a worry. I live to serve,” He grumbled.  
“Oh.” She moved to stand toe to toe with him. “I dreamed you died. There was so much blood, and all I wanted was you, alive, complaining that I’d ruined your coat.” She made a helpless, speaking movement with her hands, shorn of all grace, and Jack found himself in the extremely unfamiliar position of being totally speechless. She’d dreamed about him? What about the whelp? When did that change? Why did it change? Not sure he was all that sanguine about dear Elizabeth dreaming about him, to be honest.  
“Still alive, darling.” It was said with his customary cockiness, but he patted her cheek gently.“Don’t mistake me, Lizziebeth, but are ye just missin’ yer William?” He held her eyes, expecting the flash of anger, but not the solemn shake of her head.  
“No, Jack. I miss him, but this was not that. Perhaps it was nothing. I’m sorry to have disturbed you. Again.” Jack’s teeth flashed at that last statement, and Elizabeth shook her head and turned for the door before he could utter whatever inappropriate thing he’d thought. He chuckled and followed her up to the helm and Gibbs.


End file.
